Sentences — April 24, 2009, 2:30 pm

Weekend Read: «Cliquez ici pour visualiser le séquence!»

I’ve been unabashedly ludditic this week, arguing for (or, at least, expressing a love of) the handmade book. Just to reassure you that I’m every bit the modern guy, I should also confess to having spent an inordinate amount of my e-lunch-hours this week in virtual France. If you haven’t heard, a six-year project has come to fruition in which the 4,500 manuscript pages of Madame Bovary, archived at the University of Rouen, have been loosed on the Web. As the Independent reported:

The project was launched six years ago as a tool for literary scholars. The municipal library in Rouen, which holds the
Flaubert manuscripts, appealed to academics to help transcribe the hand-written texts. It was rapidly decided to
open up the transcription process to enthusiastic amateurs and to make the site suitable for the general reader as
well as the specialist.

The manuscripts were shared out for transcription between 130 volunteers, aged from 16 to 76, in a dozen countries,
including France, Portugal, Austria, Belgium, Colombia, Ivory Coast, and New Zealand. “They range from sixth-
formers to a cleaning lady and an oil prospector,” said Professor Danielle Girard, who co-ordinated the transcription
work.

As beautifully communist as that operative approach surely is, the result for the rest of us is just as beautifully functional–the Internet at its best. To use the thing, first you go here, where you’ll see this:

bovary_001

Then, you pick a chapter, say Chapter One, part one, “Entrée de Charles au collège,” which will take you to the below, where, if you move your cursor over a section of the text, it gets hi-lit…

bovary_002

And then, once you cliquez, you get this pot of gold:

bovary_003

Yes, a split-screen that gives you Flaubert’s manuscript page and a transcription thereof–4,500 of them! Mais oui: c’est tout à fait extraordinaire. I propose it as your weekend read.

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Mrs. B’s Baby Village Day Care was on a frontage road between a mattress wholesaler and a knife outlet. There were six or so babies as regulars and another one or two on weekends when their parents were passing through looking for work. They wouldn’t find work, of course, all the security positions were full, the timber and ore had all been taken under the active-stewardship program, and the closest new start-up industry was the geothermal field hundreds of miles away. Mrs. B didn’t even bother to write those babies’ names down in her book. It was fifteen dollars a day and they had to be in reasonable health. Even so the occasional mischievous illness would arise and empty the place out.

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